


Keeps Slipping Away

by FAB900



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Double Anal Penetration, Drowning, Electrocution, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Phobias, Sadism, Small Penis, Spoilers, Torture, Urination, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FAB900/pseuds/FAB900
Summary: This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Sam must have fallen asleep on the hill with his BB - this was just a horrible, horrible nightmare caused by his DOOMS, and he was going to wake up, any moment now...
Relationships: MULEs/Sam Porter Bridges
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92





	Keeps Slipping Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdtalk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdtalk/gifts).



> ¯\\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

It was quiet out on the road.

And that was how Sam liked it – not another soul around for miles, bar the odd friendly porter or two that were just as unsociable as himself.

A lonely job, but for Sam, it was his dream career. He didn't have to talk often, or risk having his personal space invaded; he didn't even have to _look_ at another human being.

Just him, his cargo, and his BB.

Perfect.

The timefall from overhead cleared up, and he pulled down his hood to soak in the rare rays of the sun. Sam's mood brightened along with the break in the weather, feeling good about his current delivery. A relatively short trek from the distribution centre, and a route that was free from BTs. He was well-stocked too, ladders and climbing anchors safety secured to his suit and his cargo fitting neatly into his backpack. No need for hermatic grenades, and his fully-charged power skeleton made his already light load feel almost weightless.

So, when he stepped outside of the Chiral network, he didn't worry, confidence putting a spring in Sam's steps as he began his journey.

**°•°•°•°**

Watching the BB was always fascinating. After climbing a particularly steep slope, Sam had taken the time to kick back on an outcrop of rock and play with the kid. Gently he rocked the pod, the liquid inside swishing as the baby inside giggled and clapped. Involuntarily, Sam smiled back, affection for the tiny thing gnawing away inside of him.

The BB wasn't a tool. How could anyone think that? With its face smushed against the glass, eyes full of naïve curiosity, Sam wanted nothing more than to remove the child from the pod and cradle the small baby in his arms, free from the barrier that separated them. Very infrequently did the porter ever willingly want to touch someone on his own accord – but he could make an exception for something so pure and vulnerable.

"Fuck me..." Sam stopped soothing his BB, sentimentality making his heart throb. He was so attached to the thing that it physically hurt. And to think – he had nearly incinerated his little buddy.

Flipping the pod around and reattaching it, Sam checked out the view as a distraction. Clear skies all around, with a rainbow out in the far distance. Beautiful and ethereal, yet also deadly; the thought of all those BTs crawling around, their ghostly forms reaching out for any living creature made him shudder. He could never get used to them; those fuckers had grabbed him far too many times for him to ever get comfortable with them.

The world was so silent. There would have been squirrels running through the bushes and birds tweeting if the Death Stranding had never occurred. Sam had never seen most animals, being born too late – but on the rare chance that Bridget had acted like his mother, she had lulled him to sleep during his childhood with old picture books, images of exotic animals and majestic birds burned into his mind. Animals seemed so much better than humans – simple, more honest. Maybe if he ever retired, he'd get a dog or something.

Sam took in a deep breath and mustered the strength to stand up - his cargo wasn't going to deliver itself, after all, and procrastinating was delaying it further.

"Guu?" the BB gurgled, and Sam peered down to see a tiny fist in a thumbs-up gesture. A like pinged from his cuffs, from BB, as if encouraging him to get on with his job.

"Thanks, BB," Sam chuckled, patting the pod and straightening his Bridges hat as he set off once again.

**°•°•°•°**

Rocks crunched underneath his boots as Sam made his way through a narrow, almost claustrophobic, valley. Going out of his way to pick up Chiral crystals and lost cargo hadn't been his wisest decision, and he had veered massively off-course as a result.

No biggie. A quick check of his cuffs later and he had his route planned out – a jog across a stretch of flat, before a short climb; and bingo, he'd be back on route to the shelter he had originally been heading for.

Seemed simple. Although there was a shred of doubt in his mind – he'd never gone through the area before. And he was disconnected from the network still, so he didn't really have the knowledge from his fellow porters of what lay in wait.

At best, there would be nothing. At worst, a pack of MULEs. Even BTs would be more preferable than MULEs – with BB at his side, sneaking past them wouldn't be much of an issue. Avoiding any conflict altogether would be great, but when something looked too good to be true, it often was.

As the rocky valley opened up, Sam scanned his surroundings as he marched on. No timefall, no prickle at the back of his neck, no rainbow. No BTs.

Relieved, he grabbed the straps of his backpack and moved forward. A pleasant breeze had picked up, rustling the long tufts of grass that grew along the beaten path. Even if the world had turned to shit, it still had its beauty, Sam admitted.

Bolstered by his luck, he whistled as he walked. BB squealed, delighted, so Sam did it louder. The kid had such an endearing personality; and to think, it hadn't even been _born_ yet, the likes racking up the longer he continued to play the tune.

Lost in his good humour and whistling, Sam noticed the yellow glow of the sensor hidden in the grass far too late. It pinged, then rang out, _loud_ , stopping the porter dead in his tracks as he realised.

"Shit!"

Scanning the area told him that the MULEs were coming, and _fast_ , from the direction he had been heading towards. Shit, fuck, shit, fuck!

Doubling back through the valley wasn't a good idea. Large stones and hills would impede his movements. Rushing forward into the pack was fucking stupid, given the amount of people that his Odradek scanner was picking up. A stream nearby bubbled, but it appeared too deep to run across.

Thinking quick, Sam grabbed a ladder from his tool rack and sprinted to the water, throwing it down hurriedly. The MULEs were gaining on him, and quickly, Sam hopped onto his makeshift bridge. It was slippery, and in one heart-stopping moment he almost lost his footing.

Grunting, he regained his balance and jumped, skidding as he landed on the muddy bank. There was no time to hesitate, though, and as soon as he recovered after his stumble, an electrified pole zoomed past him, missing him by mere inches.

Sam kicked the ladder away, the current carrying it away from the persistent bastards. There – no way for them to cross and get to him.

Cocky and arrogant from his quick thinking, he called out to the group of men on the other side, "looking for something, assholes?"

His jeering earned him another pole thrown at him, but he dodged it with ease. And the next – and the one after that. Their frustration was tangible, and it greatly amused Sam.

Starting to walk backwards, he stuck his fingers up at them as a farewell. They didn't deserve a wave, the pricks—

He felt the heat, before the pain.

And when he finally _did_ he register it, he knew he was absolutely fucked. The electrified pole hadn't come from the front.

It had came from behind, the glowing tip pressed against his spine. Even through all his clothes, Sam had to repress the urge to scream out in pure agony as volts courses through his body, the shocks sending his body into spasms.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder to keep his jerking body in place; and Sam wasn't sure which was more distressing – the touch, or being fucking _electrocuted_.

When BB began to wail, he somehow found the strength in him to tear away from the MULE behind him, collapsing to his knees and clutching at the pod. Sweat dripped off his nose, he felt sick, and the area where he had been touched felt itchy, warm, and just plain disgusting.

"S-shh," gasped Sam, patting the container where BB rested. His body wouldn't stop twitching, especially the muscles in his legs.

His legs. They wouldn't work. He couldn't get up – but he couldn't just lie there, either. Slowly he dragged himself against the ground, crawling past all the cargo he had dropped when he had fallen. Who cared – he could get it back later. He just needed to get past these crazy bastards and recover, maybe come back with a gun or two, or twenty.

A clang of metal from the other side of the stream made Sam look. The once-stranded MULEs had made their own bridge across with a ladder (undoubtedly stolen from someone else), and Sam could hear them laughing at _him_ as they made their way across, their shadows blocking the sun as the group crowded around him.

"Out of the w-way," he wheezed, a forest of legs stopping his escape, "take the cargo—just go—"

"You're the legendary porter, aren't you...?" one of the MULEs asked with a slow drawl, crouching down to his level, "Sam Porter Bridges?"

Sam didn't answer, choosing to ignore the question completely.

The MULE cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What an arrogant little fucker..." said the MULE, sounding more impressed at his snubbing rather than annoyed, "maybe someone ought to teach you a lesson, hmm...?"

The man nodded at the group in a silent command, and the crackle of electricity grew louder.

Sam didn't even have time to react before a pole touched his bicep, the familiar excruciating fire tearing through his muscles and leaving him a convulsing mess on the ground. He didn't scream – what was the point? There was nobody around for miles to hear him, to help him. He gritted his teeth and bared it, letting the currents surge about his body until it mercifully stopped.

"Hm..." the MULE, who observed him with eyes like a hawk, clicked his tongue, displeased, "thought that would make you scream a little..."

He reached out, grabbing a fistful of Sam's hair in his hands and pulling his head up, forcing eye-contact.

"Get the fuck off me," Sam spat, glancing to the side. Even if the other man's eyes were shadowed from underneath his hood, the gaze was still uncomfortable to hold.

"Don't like looking at people, Sam?" Hawk moved his hand from his hair to his face, cupping his jaw. Shuddering, Sam tried to flinch away, but the MULE held tight, his rubberised gloves rubbing against the porter's skin, "don't like being touched, either, huh? Interesting..."

"What's it to you?" grimacing, Sam twisted away as best as his weary body would let him. The numbness in his legs was dispersing, yet it was nothing to get excited over; surrounded by MULEs, his chance of escaping successfully was nil.

Hawk didn't respond, humming as he inspected the courier's face intently.

After a while, his face broke out into a sleazy grin, "I've heard a lot about you...took out an entire camp near Capital Knot using just your fists a few days ago. By the way - you really inconvenienced my friends there, they had a good haul until you showed up..."

"Maybe they should stop trying to steal my shit," Sam scowled, "then I'd leave 'em the fuck alone."

"No," the man said, "you wouldn't...you're like us, Sam – you love the rush, the _thrill_ of it all. Delivering cargo, getting likes, the threat of violence – it keeps you going, doesn't it?"

"I'm _nothing_ like you," protested Sam, finding the energy to squirm away from the man's grasp, scooting backwards on his ass until his back hit a pair of legs, "I'm not a delivery junkie, I just want to do my job—"

The MULE tutted, "lies, lies, lies – you _live_ for it. Without it, you're nothing. Sounds like an addiction to me; how about _you_ , boys...?"

In unison, the group murmured in agreement.

"Ah...see, Sam? You're a liar," the leader of the pack stood up from where he had been crouching, and took several steps forward, "and naughty, lying delivery boys need to be _punished_ , don't you think?"

And on that note Hawk lunged forward, ripping the BB pod from Sam's chest.

BB screeched at the sudden movement, clearly frightened. The noise broke Sam; all he wanted to do was console the scared baby and turn its wails into laughter once more.

"Give it back!" Sam snarled, reaching out – to no avail, as a MULE behind him grabbed him by the shoulders and kept him in place, his strong, powerful arms and thick fingers digging painfully into his skin.

Frantic, he resisted, but the more Sam did the harder the tall, ox-like MULE pressed down, fingers squeezing down straight into what felt like his bones.

"What the fuck do you want? You can have my cargo— I don't fuckin' care – just give me back my BB," demanded the porter, nausea building up as the weight on his shoulders remained constant. If the bastard didn't remove his hands soon, Sam was going to snap his fucking wrist. Or vomit. Whichever came first.

"You'd just come back for it later. You think we're small fry – we don't kill. We just steal. To you, we're not a threat..." Hawk examined the BB pod he was holding, grinning, "it's time we changed that, I think."

The man shifted the capsule to one hand, flexed – and hurled it off into the distance, the vessel soaring in slow motion as Sam watched on in shock. After what felt like hours later – but in reality, had only been mere seconds – BB descended, and, thankfully, landed on a small patch of thick grass some feet away.

"Damn, I was hoping it would hit the rock," the MULE sighed, sounding disappointed, "oh well. Better luck next time."

"You're sick," Sam growled, trying to wrangle his way free. He really didn't want to touch his captor's hands to break loose, but it was looking inevitable.

Pushing his phobia to one side as best as he could, Sam grabbed at the Ox's wrists, putting as much force as he possibly could into his grip. In spite of all the layers of muscle and fabric Sam had to gouge his fingers into, the man yelped, snatching his arms away and letting the courier free.

Seeing his chance, he dashed forward, with the intent to grab BB and run the fuck away. The guys were disturbed, sick – staying any longer was a terrible, terrible, idea.

That was the plan, anyway. Yet as Sam sprung to his feet, another MULE in a thick balaclava swung his leg out, his foot catching Sam right in his abdomen. The force of it was brutal; crashing back to his knees, he groaned, eyes watering.

"Going somewhere?" Hawk drawled, "shame – I was going to show you how 'sick' we can be..."

Sam didn't like the sound of that.

Especially when the man licked his lips, eyes hungry.

"Strip."

Blinking, Sam sat there in stunned silence, unsure if he had heard correctly.

"You deaf? Go on, do as he says, man," a different MULE chimed in.

"Take it off!" another shouted.

"Strip! Strip!"

"Do it," ordered Hawk, again, "or I'll crush that BB of yours underneath my boot."

The tone of his voice made it clear he wasn't joking – it was cold, sadistic; Sam swallowed, weighing his options. Throw away his useless pride and get naked for the whole world to see, or let an innocent child get killed?

Like hell he was going to let anyone harm his BB. Bridges spied on him every time he showered anyway, he knew that – what difference did it make if it was Bridges or a random pack of thugs?

"Don't hurt the kid," he had intended the words to come out like a demand, a threat, but to Sam's ears they sounded nothing more than a desperate plea.

Taking a breath, he slipped off his backpack and tried to hide the tremble in his hands as he undid the various clasps and belts that attached it firmly to his suit. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud, the red welts it often left on the porter's shoulders making themselves known as it came off. Sam winced, but continued, undoing the laces of his boots and toeing them off.

With only those two articles off, he felt far too exposed already. The chill seeped through his socks, his back felt light and unprotected; Sam hesitated on his next move, and the sizzle of static hissed as if in warning.

"Hurry up, or I'll strip you myself."

Sam's hands flew to the zipper on his jumpsuit, tugging it down to reveal his vest. Unwillingly he also tore off his gloves, stood up, unclasped his power skeleton, then stepped out of his overalls to the sound of several approving whistles.

Left in just his casual wear, Sam shivered as the light breeze hit his bare arms. Their gazes on his body was already making him uncomfortable – and he was dressed modestly, not yet bare.

Fuck. He really didn't want to continue, yet the sight of the BB pod in the distance strengthened his resolve, and gritting his teeth, Sam grabbed the hem of his vest and pulled it over his abs, wriggling his way out of the tight fabric.

The Q-pid jingled as he removed his clothing, and he distantly hoped the MULEs wouldn't steal it from him. Although, it appeared that stealing _anything_ was the furthest thing from their minds; in all honesty, he wondered what they had to gain from forcing him to strip.

Sam stopped mulling it over. There was a time and place to think, and this wasn't one of them. He hurried up his movements and tugged at the waistband of his pants, kicking them off so they joined the puddle of clothing at his feet.

In just his underwear, hat and socks, he hoped he had taken off enough.

"...And the rest, Sam."

Shit.

The socks came off first. Dirt and pebbles bit into the sensitive soles of his bare feet when he put them back on the ground, his toes curling into the stray strands of grass. He reached for his hat – only to find it was gone already, probably knocked off from his earlier struggle.

That only left one article left.

Suddenly, Sam felt very, very, small. The MULEs surrounding him seemed so much taller, wider, than himself. They filled out their suits in either fat or muscle, and the knowledge was making him antsy.

Peering down at his briefs, Sam inhaled apprehensively. His palms skated past the fresh bruise on his stomach, fingertips grazing against his old cross-shaped scar until he made it to the band of his underwear. Hooking a thumb into the elastic, he eased it down, using his other hand to cup his genitals in an attempt to preserve whatever remaining dignity he had.

Underwear gone, the porter stood defiantly, hands concealing his groin. He didn't know where to look; so he took to staring at his feet and fidgeting, waiting for the next command.

"Back on your knees."

Sam complied.

"Hands behind your head."

Sam complied, again, albeit much more hesitantly. He couldn't help the flush that rose to his cheeks as he revealed his most intimate area to a group of strange, unknown men that were eyeing him up, judging him.

"Heh," Hawk snickered, "turns out the 'legendary' Sam Porter isn't much of a 'legend' down there..."

The flush deepened to the point that Sam could feel his ears and neck burn, humiliated beyond belief when the others all joined in with their hoots of laughter. He wasn't _that_ small. It was cold. He was flaccid, it was average when he was hard...

Excuses ran through the courier's mind but he didn't say any of them. Didn't need to add more fuel to the fire – so he kept quiet, and hoped that the fuckers would get bored sooner rather than later.

Hawk stopped sniggering at his penis and stepped forward, boots crunching the gravel underfoot. The pole he carried wasn't turned on anymore, the tip dull and lifeless. Sam flinched as the weapon touched his shoulder – there was no pain, but he wasn't going to let his guard down. He held his breath as the rod drifted lower, past his pecs until it grazed lightly against the edge of his nipple, erect from the cold.

...Things were getting weird. Sam didn't like it.

Lower the weapon travelled, following the outlines of his abs like some sort of maze until it touched the sensitive space above his groin, before coming to a stop amidst his pubes, dangerously close to the base of his cock.

Sam's fingers curled into his hair, refusing to make a sound, even if a string of insults and protests were bubbling their way to his lips. He wouldn't give the sick freaks the satisfaction of knowing he was disturbed by their actions—

The stick caressed his penis, and Sam tensed up, very aware that a single tap on the device would send what felt like thousands of volts surging through his body. Despite being cold, sweat dampened his hairline at the thought of being electrocuted for a third time.

A little sigh, then the MULE moved on, pole resting on the porter's inner thigh instead.

"I wonder," the man began, "how much more intense _this_ will feel on bare skin?"

A stone dropped into Sam's stomach just as the weapon sprung to life, the cold seeping from his body as it was replaced with agonising warmth. Yet still he didn't let out a sound, gritting his teeth and bearing the pain instead. He had walked through razor-sharp rocks with nothing on his feet, trekked through snowy mountains until his lungs turned to ice and his fingers turned numb.

 _This_ was nothing.

As soon as it started, it ended.

And as soon as it ended, it started again. But not in the same place. The next time the source of his misery came from a spot between his armpit and rib.

It wasn't Hawk who was shocking him – it was the masked one who had kicked him in the guts. He held the bar on his skin for longer than felt necessary, Sam's arms quivering under the strain of keeping them locked behind his head.

 _Eventually_ , he was granted a reprieve, and Sam unclenched his aching jaw, aware that he had somehow bitten the inside of his mouth, an iron taste filling his mouth. He wasn't really sure if it was blood, or drool, that was leaking from the corner of his lips – maybe it was both.

Sweat poured from him as the sound of another rod started up from behind him. Sam tried to anticipate where it was going to land; his shoulder? Back? Perhaps his hip?

He was wrong on all accounts. At last he made a noise, one of surprise when the pole pushed into the flesh of his backside, the red-hot tip undoubtedly branding him. The unexpected shock of being electrocuted on his ass made him keel over, and Sam put out his hands to protect himself from smacking his face on the ground.

On his hands and knees, the courier was somewhat relieved that he didn't have to bear their mocking stares any longer, the floor unfeeling and non-judgemental. The position was pathetic, submissive – but fuck it. At least they couldn't see his junk.

Sam's limbs trembled as volts continued to course through him. _This_ MULE was taking his time in torturing his weary body, only stopping to move the electrified weapon into his other cheek.

He wanted it to stop. He was doing his best to hold his ground, but his resolve was weakening the longer the currents rippled through his system. In an act of betrayal, his mouth turned slack, and Sam let out a low, pained groan, his whole body shivering violently as his ordeal continued.

When the rod was finally lifted from his ass, Sam sucked in deep, heavy breaths, unaware that he had stopped breathing at some point. The world was starting to blur, but he was fairly certain _that_ was caused by his anguished tears clouding his vision.

The tears fell silently as another stick prodded his side. It hurt. He was tired. He desired nothing more than to find a safe house, take a long hot shower before bidding his BB goodnight and sleeping for twelve hours straight.

But that wasn't going to happen. Not any time soon.

With the one pole still on his flesh, another joined in at the same time. Double the voltage – double the pain.

Eventually, Sam let out the scream the MULEs had been so adamantly trying to pry from him. The spasms in his muscles was so, so painful – he'd rather _die_ than be subjected to more of the fiery torment he was being subjected to.

But death for him was of no great consequence. Perhaps the MULEs knew of his ability as a repatriate, and the moment his cries died out, the rods were removed.

Numb. That's all Sam could think as he slipped back into a more aware state, fully conscious of the mess of his body. His muscles were misbehaving still, jumping and contracting in random intervals. The strength left Sam's arms, and his upper body collapsed to the floor, cheek pressed into the soil, the smell of the earth filling his nostrils and the scratch of tiny stones digging into his face as he lay there, nails clawing into the dirt.

The blood in his ears was pounding, so loud that he couldn't hear anything bar the red ocean that roared against his ear drums. Maybe it was for the best; the muffled sound of jeering told Sam that perhaps, not being able to hear for the moment was actually a blessing.

Sadly for him, his blessing left him all too soon, and Sam could finally hear what the MULEs were saying:

"He's crying!"

"Let's do it again!"

"Scream more, delivery boy!"

"Put three on him!"

"Ugh, fuck – he's pissing himself, ha! What a _pussy_."

Mortified, Sam felt it; the warm feeling of urine dripping down his legs and soaking into the terrain under his knees. He hadn't intended to pee. The spasms in his abdominal muscles must have been the cause, but he could barely string together a coherent thought, let alone manage speech to protest that he _wasn't_ a pussy like they were claiming him to be.

A hand fisted itself in Sam's hair, and he felt himself being dragged up to eye-level to Hawk, who was grinning like a maniac at his plight.

"Seems you made a bit of a mess..." he said, "we should get you cleaned up."

And with that, he was being dragged to the nearby river by his hair, his almost paralysed body not able to resist at all. His limbs were useless, deadened, and he could only _just_ feel the freezing water against his legs as he was forced into the shallow edges of the stream.

"S-Stop," Sam's tongue felt heavy, his speech slurred, "d-d-don't want t-t-this..."

"What's that?" the MULE asked, pretending not to hear, "you want to take a bath? Sure!"

The porter didn't have time to close his mouth as he was plunged head-first into the cold, _cold_ water, choking down a large amount by surprise. He flailed around with his weakened arms, managing to find purchase on the slippery, moss-strewn rocks as he forced his head back using every ounce of strength he had remaining. Coughing, Sam expelled the water from his lungs, sucking in the cool air that he knew he was going to need.

Fuck this. He wasn't going to just take it. He was going to _fight_ against the psycho that was determined to break him.

So, the next time his head was being pushed into the river, he struggled. He twisted. He did everything his broken body could reasonably do, obstinate in his desire that he would _not_ be shoved into the water again. It wasn't much – but the little fight he did do made his tattered pride feel a tiny bit whole again.

"Feisty," sneered Hawk, his fingers curling tighter in Sam's hair until it was painful, "admirable, but ultimately, useless."

He shifted around, and Sam wondered what he was doing – then grunted, startled when he felt a hand smack against his ass, right against the burn marks from the pole.

Oh, that stung. Not only physically, either. All his efforts to maintain a scrap of dignity was gone in an instant by another man slapping his rear like he was a naughty child. Stupefied by the blow, Sam let his grip falter, and his drowning experience began anew when the other man took the chance to shove him back into the stream.

It hurt. It hurt so bad. He wanted to breathe. The water was dark, cold. Lifeless, a facsimile of his trips to the Seam. He only wanted to deliver cargo. Why was he treated like this? It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. Next time he should get Die-Hardman to deliver his own fucking packages, and then he'd see how much of it struggle it really was. Fuck Die-Hardman. Fuck Bridges. Fuck everything.

Angry thoughts swirled in Sam's mind as he was hoisted back to the surface. He had drank too much of the water – he felt sick – and within seconds he was throwing up, heaving as he purged the contents of his stomach, mostly clear liquid tumbling from his lips.

"Gross," the leader said in disgust, "gotta clean you up _again_...want you looking your best for the boys back at camp, y'know?"

Sam barely had the time to process what had been said before be was back under the water for a third time.

Taken back to their camp? _Why_? And how many more MULEs were waiting for him back at their shelter? He was _fucked_ , wasn't he?

The MULE pulled him out of the water, his face dangerously close to Sam's as he examined him, "that's better," he remarked, then he was yanking the courier back to the shore where the group awaited them. They had been busy digging through Sam's gear it appeared, blood packs and whatnot strewn about the grass. A fat, piggy-looking MULE with an upturned nose had even picked up his Strand, and he was fashioning something out of the rope.

When he was finished, the only thing it looked like to Sam was a noose. At first it seemed unlikely, but they had already tasered and almost drowned him – and suddenly, being lynched didn't appear too implausible after all.

Piggy bent down to sling the loop around Sam's neck and pulled at the knot, tightening it, the slight brush of his fingers on his throat making his skin crawl. He then presented the end of the rope to his boss, who took it.

As it exchanged hands, the realisation dawned on Sam on what it was supposed to be – _a leash_.

"Shall we go for a walk, Sammy-boy? Our base isn't too far... I'm sure you want to meet the rest of the crew, eh?"

Like fuck he did. But it wasn't a choice, as the tugging on the rope urged him to follow – and so Sam did, on his hands and knees, his still numb legs dragging as he crawled. Sharp pieces of terrain cut into his legs as he moved, yet he persevered, trying to keep pace, thankful that the cruel man was taking it slow. The others were following behind; their backpacks laden with the cargo Sam had regretfully dropped earlier. Fuck. They were probably damaged – although, really, that should have been the least of his worries.

Sam came to a stop as they passed the BB pod. The capsule was darkened, so he had no way of knowing if the kid was alright. He didn't want to leave the baby just out there on its own. Desperate, he peered up at Hawk, silently pleading.

"Please..." Sam started, voice rough, "my BB..."

The man hummed thoughtfully, "I'm a generous guy...I'll let you bring it with us, as long as you behave."

Gratefully, Sam picked up the container and held to his chest. It activated, and BB's curious burbles reached the relieved porter's ears. The kid was fine when he looked, thankfully, the tell-tale heart-shaped bubbles floating in the tank around the BB as it smiled at him.

He only had one shaky arm to balance on now, however he still powered on, bolstered by his BB's presence. They could torture him a thousand times more, as long as the little one remained _safe_.

The leader hadn't been lying – it _was_ only a short walk away. Sam realised how stupid his plan had been – by escaping over the river, he had put himself smack-dab in the middle of MULE territory. The metallic sheets that made up the shabby shelter glinted in the sunlight, and it wasn't long before they were striding (or in Sam's case, hobbling) their way into the base.

Two MULEs were lounging around inside, one thin with rounded glasses, checking the selves of stolen goods, the other a grizzled older man, dragging deeply on a cigarette, his sleeves rolled up and jumpsuit unzipped, showing off his thick body hair.

"What the fuck," the nerdy-looking said one had spotted them first, almost dropping the case of supplies he had been holding, eyes round in shock like an owl. The bear-like one looked in their direction, alerted, and his cigarette dangled precariously on the edge of his lips, aghast.

"Look at _this_ piece of cargo we found while on a stroll boys," announced Hawk, tugging on the leash, "unfortunately, we _might_ have damaged it a teeny-weeny bit on the way back..."

"Uh..." Bear scratched at his thick, wiry beard, "that's that Sam Porter guy, ain't it?"

The leader slapped Sam's back good-humouredly, but the porter was far from happy – he growled at the touch, hugging the BB pod closer to him as if trying to shield himself. He'd given up trying to preserve his modesty – being walked around on a leash of all things was enough to degrade his self-worth into nothing.

"Ay, look at you, Mr. Famous," Sam got slapped again on his back, and for a moment, he felt like becoming the animal he was being treated as and tearing off the hand that kept so carelessly touching him with his bare teeth, "why don't you go say hi, Sam—?"

"Fuck off," Sam snarled, shrugging the man's palm off of his shoulders, then froze. The response had been conditioned, and had involuntarily slipped out of his mouth during a spark of anger.

"That was a mistake, Sam. I thought I told you to _behave_...?"

His punishment came swiftly. Firstly, Hawk plucked the BB from Sam's cradling arms, handing it to Ox. Weakly the courier reached out for it, not wanting to part with it – BB must have felt the same, as the glass cleared and the kid splayed their hands against the glass, eyes locked onto Sam's as the man disappeared.

The second punishment came in the form of a hard, powerful backhand from the masked MULE, the force of it making Sam's cheek sting.

Thirdly, Bear stood up from his chair, the sound of his boots heavy as he stalked his way up to Sam. He hovered over him, the tip of his cigarette glowing red as he took a puff, smoke making the air hazy with the smell of tobacco. He continued to chuff away in silence, flicking away ash every so often until only the butt remained.

Sam expected him to lob the end outside.

But he didn't. He pinched the still-lit cigarette between his calloused fingers and brought it from his lips, bringing it down and letting it hover just above the porter's bicep.

He knew what was inevitably going to happen. But even then, the sharp, searing burn that pierced through his flesh as the cigarette made contact was ten times more painful than he could have ever expected.

Biting his lip to keep silent, Sam submissively allowed himself to be burnt, telling himself that the less he resisted, the more likely BB would be kept out of danger. It still didn't ease the physical pain. But he could bear it a little easier.

Ox returned as the butt was eventually lifted from his arm. Sam didn't peek at the mark left behind; judging from the soreness of it, it probably didn't look too great. Another scar to add to his collection, he supposed.

"Where'd you put it?" Hawk questioned his subordinate, and Sam noted the man didn't have the pod with him.

"Put it on the shelf next to the ceramics, it's okay, I think."

"Good, good...wouldn't want its screaming to disturb us..."

Unease settled like a blanket on Sam. That didn't sound comforting at all.

"Hey, you," Hawk pointed at Pig, who was stood next to the porter, "get your cock out."

The fatso sighed, "why do you always pick _me_ to go first...?" he complained, but slowly undid the zipper on his suit. All Sam could do was watch in horror as the portly man took out his flaccid dick, stroking himself nonchalantly as if he had done it a hundred times before.

The rest of the pack had made themselves at home, relaxing on chairs, tables, against shelves – a couple of them were even cracking open some beers, too, drinking them as they watched the proceedings like some sort of sick soap opera.

Sam didn't know where to look. A lot of the guys had also taken off some of their layers, showing off their muscles or chunky bodies, rubbing at their own crotches while the events unfolded before them.

"Look, delivery-boy," huffed the currently masturbating MULE, "c'mon, _look_."

He didn't want to. The rhythmic sounds flesh against flesh, just next to his right ear, was enough to make Sam feel nauseous. So close was the overweight male, that every so often his knuckles would brush against the porter's cheek, droplets of pre-cum splashing onto his face.

Keeping his eyes downcast, Sam fidgeted on his knees, hands clasped in his lap. Pig's smell made his lip curl in disgust, musk and sweat clinging to the hairs in his nostrils. But Sam knew that he could shut his eyes and tune out the lewd sounds as best as he was able to, but the situation wasn't going to go away.

He was going to be raped. That was evidently clear. In such a sexless, unromantic time in history, the concept the _he_ , the rough, scarred Sam Porter Bridges was going to be assaulted was nearly inconceivable, almost laughable – yet that was the awful, awful reality. Judging by the relaxed atmosphere from everyone else in the room – Sam guessed that it wasn't the first time they had done it, either.

Pig continued to pleasure himself next to Sam's face, and morbid curiosity took over him. Coyly he peeked out from underneath his lashes, eyes darting to the side to steal a glance at the organ practically pressed against him, and, no doubtfully, be _in_ him at some point.

Holy _shit_. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd seen another man's penis in the flesh, and it was so... _big_. More chubby than long, with a heavy-looking set of balls nestled amongst the untamed jungle of his pubes.

Sam felt very small, suddenly, subtly shielding his own cock out of view as he unconsciously compared himself to the other man.

"He's checking you out, dude," Ox jeered, and embarrassed, Sam peeled his eyes away, going red from having been caught staring.

Hawk snorted, dropping the leash. His stubble tickled Sam's face as he leaned in, breath warm against his left ear as he whispered lowly, "you should touch it Sam...maybe it'll help you get over that fear of yours...just a suggestion, of course...but I think things would go better for you, if you did..."

No way in hell was it a suggestion, Sam bitterly thought. It was an order, plain and simple.

His palms were already itching at the prospect. But he wasn't a quitter – he couldn't let BB down because of his own selfish hang-ups. All he needed to do...was touch it. Maybe they weren't interested in fucking him at all, and he could get away with a few handjobs.

The optimism Sam felt spurned him on – albeit with a remaining trace of reluctance – to reach out and gently grab the penis. His fingertips were feather-light against the skin and trembling slightly, heart thudding at the contact. Sam could feel his chest start to tighten, irrational fear spiking through him as he quelled the urge to snatch his hand away

It didn't settle well with him, what he was doing, yet he persisted, curling his hand into a fist and pumping slowly. The organ was hot to the touch, nearly scalding in his grasp, and sticky with pre-ejaculate.

Sam struggled on, dismayed with the fact that his fingers only _just_ about met his thumb around the circumference of the MULE's shaft. His hands moved awkwardly, clumsily, inexperienced at touching someone else's penis. Even then – he rarely jerked himself off, too shy to do it in a safe room under Bridges' watchful eyes. He didn't need Heartman requesting more samples of his bodily fluids, in any case.

"You suck," Pig snorted, slapping Sam's hands away, "just use your mouth."

Instinctively, the porter shook his head, the idea repulsive and downright impossible. The... _thing_ could barely fit in his fist, and he was expected to put it in his mouth?

"Do it! Do it! Do it!" the other MULEs chanted from every direction. The leader himself joined in, grabbing the back of Sam's head and forcing him to face the ugly, monstrous cock, the wet tip smearing all over his lips and beard.

Grimacing, Sam tried pulling away, only to be pushed back; he knew resisting was futile, yet still he tried.

"Say 'ahh'," said Hawk, yanking at the roots of the courier's hair, "don't worry – I'll guide you through it..."

Lips trembling, Sam slowly opened his mouth—

"—just kiiiiiiiiding!"

With little time to react, Sam's face smashed onto the man's cock forcefully as Hawk shoved his head down from behind, driving him further and further until Sam's lips were wrapped around the base, nose blocked by a wild bush of pubes. Sam retched, trying to vomit as the penis hit the back of his throat, tears springing to his eyes and spilling, gag reflex working overtime at the intrusion; the nasty taste of bitter salt against his tongue continuing to make him heave. There was nothing left for him to throw up, having poured out the contents of his stomach earlier in the river, but the muscles still convulsed in a fruitless attempt.

" _Damn_!" Pig groaned obnoxiously, "this fucker's throat feels _fan-fucking-tastic_!"

Whining, Sam tried pulling back, fists thumping against the man's wide thighs. He couldn't breathe, he _needed_ to breathe – and he almost sobbed when Hawk ripped him off the cock.

"Good job, Sammy," he praised, tenderly stroking at the porter's hair, "that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Spluttering and coughing, Sam shot the man an angry stare and massaged his aching jaw. The foul taste lingered in his mouth, and he spat the remnants to the side.

The reprieve he was granted was short. Soon enough, his head was being nudged back onto the slick girth, teeth almost grazing against the flesh as his mouth was stuffed full again. The taste wasn't any better the second time around, but at least Sam knew what to expect.

Or, he thought he did. He wasn't being forced to take the entire thing in one go again, and the leader stopped pushing him down once he got to about halfway.

Sam sat there, waiting for what was going to come next. In a way, being made to sit there with the blunt, smooth head of the penis just shy of breaching his throat was even worse, the expectation building and spiking his already frayed nerves into overdrive. He tried to relax. The more he tensed, the more likely he would gag, and then the whole thing would be way more uncomfortable than it already was.

Too soon, Hawk was jerking him back, until the leaking tip of the other man's cock was resting on Sam's lower lip. Then, the porter was being nudged forward. Then back again. Then forward, the hand on his head steady as it guided his mouth back and forth over and over. Every so often, he'd get pushed a little _too_ far, the prominently ridged head of the fat man's penis bumping against his uvula; each time it happened, Sam's stomach would jump, a small, tiny whimper escaping him in protest.

"S-shit..." Pig wheezed, "gonna come already..."

The leader took his hands off of a very relieved Sam, who exhaled gratefully through his nose, although his relief was temporary.

"You can take over, I'm going to look for some stuff," Hawk said vaguely, then disappeared into the back of the base. The MULE, taking his boss's advice, grabbed two meaty handfuls of Sam's hair and yanked him forward.

The rough touch, combined with the brutalisation of Sam's throat, made him gurgle messily around the man's cock, skin prickling as his chin made contact with the MULEs balls, the sac tensed at his impending orgasm. Pig didn't let up; fast and deep he fucked into Sam's unwilling mouth, hunching over to angle himself deeper.

Excess saliva gushed from Sam's mouth, the blowjob becoming increasingly more sloppy the longer it continued. So rough – too rough – were the movements that he began to choke, strained tears falling thick and fast at the treatment.

Then the MULE froze, his thighs tensing, nails biting hard into Sam's scalp. A filthy-tasting tang flooded his senses, viscous fluid splattering against his palate and clogging up his airways further. Helpless, Sam drank the cum pouring down his throat, noisily swallowing despite the disgusting taste, consistency _and_ smell. All three senses being assaulted at the same time was too much to endure, and a small hiccup had the courier sputtering wetly, nose burning as semen went down the wrong way and trickled out of his nostrils instead.

Pig was _still_ coming when Hawk came back, carrying in his hand a cargo container. Upon seeing the return of his boss, the man pulled his cock out of Sam's mouth and used his hand to squeeze out the few remaining drops of jizz onto the coughing porter's lips.

"Ah – I missed the money shot? Well, whatever," the leader put the case on a table and popped it open, "found some stuff that we can use as lube—"

Sam paused his hacking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Oh, _God_.

There was no way he could delude himself into thinking that he _wasn't_ going to be raped any longer. Not when someone dragged out a large, cushioned gym mat, like a makeshift bed.

Cold, harsh reality came crashing over him as Hawk stalked over to him, a tube in his hand. Someone was pushing him onto the mat, face down, ass up – if Sam wasn't internally panicking at the fact that he was going to get _fucked_ , by another _man_ , he'd have fought against the rough hands that were manipulating him into place.

Instead, a shocked sort of numbness paralysed him, more mentally than physically – this wasn't real. It couldn't be. He must have fallen asleep on the hill with his BB. This was just a horrible, horrible nightmare caused by his DOOMS, and he was going to wake up, any moment now...

Thoughts of denial ran through the courier's head, over and over. He could hear the coarse remarks and banter from the group of MULEs, but he couldn't make sense of their words, their voices as meaningless as static.

Harsh sibilance droned on and on in his ears, almost drowning out the noise of a zipper, the pop of a cap, and the wet, lewd sounds of lubrication being smothered onto what Sam could only assume was someone's penis—

The buzzing in his ears died out the moment he felt something hard and hot rub itself against the cleft of his ass, skimming slightly against his entrance. Sam, frozen to his spot, clenched his muscles, the only act of resistance he had left in him.

It didn't stop anything. A pair of gloved hands settled on his waist, pulling him back, and Sam nearly screamed as the cock entered him fully in one swoop, asshole burning in agony at the breach.

"Ah— _ah,_ Sammy," Hawk gasped, "you're so _tight_..."

"S-s-s-stop..." mumbled Sam against the mat, sweat rolling off his body at the pain. Something was trickling down his leg – probably blood, he realised bitterly. The fuckers hadn't even bothered to prepare him properly.

His pleas went ignored as the man took him roughly, his hips smacking loudly as he thrusted wildly. No care, no respect in his actions, just pure brutality meant to dehumanise him. All Sam could do was whimper, and let it happen, tears of frustration dripping down his face, off his nose and soaking into the mat below him. All his years of experience in delivering cargo and avoiding danger had all been thrown in the trash by a misplaced sense of trying to go the extra mile for other people, and the result had put both him _and_ his BB in a terrible situation.

God, it hurt. Everything did. His head, his heart, his body. The grip on his waist was bruising, the touch fiery hot. He was almost certain that he was breaking out in a rash already, the cool rubber of the MULEs gloves kind of soothing against the heated skin.

The rubberised mat squeaked as his sweat-soaked body slid across its surface, the barbaric thrusts pushing him forwards until his forehead bumped against someone's boots.

It was a MULE that had been somewhat in the background during the entire proceedings thus far; dark-skinned, with scars covering his entire face, striping across his skin like marks on a tiger. He was chugging back a beer, idly stroking at his cock at the same time.

"Hey there, man," Tiger said, and Sam peered up questioningly, trying to avoid looking at the absolute monster the other man was packing, "you thirsty?"

Not really, but he would've done anything to get rid of the taste of cum from his throat, so Sam nodded, wincing when Hawk shoved himself in a bit _too_ deep into his ass, as if annoyed by Sam's wandering attention.

"Right," the scarred man grabbed an unopened beer and cracked it open, "close your eyes, open your mouth, and stick out your tongue, I'll give you some."

Sam followed the odd directions, lifting his upper body off the floor by his hands and waiting for the beer to splash on his face, mouth – whatever.

He waited. He could hear the MULE shuffling around, then felt a presence kneeling in front of him, and Sam's eyebrows crumpled in confusion—

A particularly hard thrust had him jostling forward, and then Sam felt _it_ on his lips. Something hard. Smooth. Warm. Almost velvety soft, but as stiff as steel – a cock.

"Aw, was you expecting something else?"

The _bastard_ had tried to trick him.

Eyes flying open, Sam got an eyeful of the man's dark, weeping erection only seconds before it was being rammed down his throat. Longer than Pig's, the courier could feel his muscles in his neck bulge at the effort of accommodating the disfigured MULEs lengthy dick, a muffled groan of repulsion leaving him at the texture of wrinkled skin and pulsing veins grinding against his tongue.

Attempting to push himself back to ease the strain in his throat only ended up with him settling back on the leader's cock, and if he did the opposite, the more of Tiger he was forced to take; spit roasted from both ends, Sam understood, fully, what predicament he was in – with nothing he could do, he let them do what they wanted. There was no point in fighting. Maybe if he just let them get on with it, the faster it would be over.

Despite his decision, his body grew tired, fast, his arms aching from trying to keep himself steady and upright during the rocking motions. The moment his arms began to wobble, Hawk seemed to notice, and his hands snatched up Sam's wrists, pulling them back and using them as leverage for his continued onslaught.

The twisting of his joints was uncomfortable, but at least he didn't have to use his own strength any more. The MULEs asynchronous rhythm pulled and pushed him back and forth, back and forth, until Sam felt like nothing more than a toy to be used.

"Dude, you're shit," sighed the Tiger, "like, suck it, or move your tongue, fuck. The second Death Stranding will come before I do at this rate..."

Sam gave him a filthy stare, furious at how much was being expected of him. His intention of being docile was wavering by the minute, and if Sam hadn't been choking on another man's cock, he might have even told him to fuck off and suck his own gross dick if _his_ blowjobs were so bad.

Unfortunately he couldn't, and not wanting to be stuck in his current position for any longer, Sam did the only thing he could think of doing – sucking in his cheeks and swallowing untidily around the member, not really sure what he was doing.

Whatever he was trying to do, it was working, as the complaining man grunted, hissing through his teeth as Sam lazily worked his tongue around the shaft, the shiny head weighing heavily at the back of his throat.

Having to suck tired out his jaw unexpectedly faster than he would have thought, and for a brief moment, Sam wished that the man would just take over and plunge himself in and out like the fatter MULE had done. But alas, whenever his mouth grew lax, Tiger would grab his ear and tug at it painfully, a clear warning for him to continue what he was doing.

Too preoccupied by the man in front of him, Sam had almost forgotten about the leader. His thrusts had turned slow, shallow, to the point where the porter could only feel pressure in his ass, the burn he once felt ebbing away into a distant throb. His silence was unsettling – he'd been a talkative bastard earlier, but now? Nothing. Sam didn't get to dwell on it too long, because as soon as picked up on the man's quiet behaviour, the other one's moans were increasing in volume, louder and louder until he roared.

The noise was so off-putting that Sam yanked himself backwards, wondering if he had somehow managed to accidentally bite the man – but then he felt a familiar substance shoot across his tongue, more watery yet stronger tasting than the last lot. Quickly, Sam pushed the back of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, not making the same mistake of swallowing like last time. Fuck, he could still feel the previous load clogging up nostrils – fuck that, he wouldn't drink another drop if he could help it.

"You're pretty good...when you try," the MULE complimented in a weird, backhanded fashion. Sam didn't know if he was trying to be friendly, or having a dig at him. He really wished that none of the assholes talked to him at all, especially when he couldn't backchat them due to the semen pooled on his tongue.

Sam spat out the man's cum to one side as the owly MULE spoke up, "sir...is everything alright? You've gone...quiet."

"Huh...?" Hawk sounded like he had been lost in his thoughts, letting go of Sam's arms so he crashed back down onto the mat, "oh, yeah. Just peachy. Well. Not really. To be honest...I'm a little disappointed in Samuel here," he continued to thrust slightly, barely moving at all, "I was hoping he'd resist a bit more...it isn't very fun when they just take it – straight away, anyway..."

What a disgusting sadist. Sam was half-pleased that his submission had managed to rile him up, but was also half-anxious at the prospect of his treatment becoming worse as a result.

"Hmm...you're a tough guy. You're not going to break, no matter how many times we fuck you or shock you...you'll just endure until we're done, then treat it like a bad dream, won't you? What is one more nightmare to us DOOMS sufferers, eh?" Hawk gave out a tired chuckle, "no...this won't do. I want to _break_ you, Sam. Make sure you never forget what happens here today...But...how do I break someone who's already beyond repair...?"

The leader stopped thrusting altogether and pulled himself out, the ridged edge of his cock catching against Sam's rim and making him flinch at the sensation. He was sore there still, but it didn't seem like he was bleeding anymore.

A surprising amount of strength flipped Sam over, until he was sprawled onto his back and staring up at the corrugated ceiling. There was nowhere to hide in his current position – turning his head to either side had him looking at MULEs, and peering upwards appeared safe, until the leader came into view, sitting heavily on the porter's chest and angling his still-erect cock until it rested in-between the groove of Sam's pectoral muscles.

"Get the fuck off me—" the confused porter groused, "—what the fuck are you doing—?!"

Sam tried to twist himself free, but strong knees kept him firmly in place. He could just about wriggle his arms free though, so he attempted to claw his way out by digging his chipped nails into the leader's thighs – only for his wrists to be scooped up and placed on top of the man's penis, creating a makeshift hole.

Paling, Sam felt goose bumps break out all over skin when he saw the cock begin to slide across his muscles and palms, the lubrication from before greasing the motions. The leaking tip coated his fingers, each droplet visible as it dribbled from the slit and landed on his chest.

"Ah—that disgust on your face– so good—" Hawk panted, humping away, "oh – _shit_ —"

Acting fast, Sam cupped the head of the other male's penis and cringed when he started to come, gooey ropes of semen staining his palms and pooling in the crevice of muscles. The man groaned and puffed through his orgasm, continuing to fuck sloppily into the mess he has created, a sickening squelch resounding through the murky den as he did.

What felt like an eternity later, his hips grinded to a halt, and with a shaky exhale the MULE rolled off him, giving him one last going over before getting up, "ha, I left a mark," he said, poking at Sam's chest, who could feel the familiar itch of a rash break out on skin – looking down, he could see a humiliating phallic-shaped redness amongst the sperm, and cringed.

The leader stopped prodding at him and got up, pulling up a chair. Obediently a few MULEs proffered their boss cigarettes and beer, who thanklessly took them as he relaxed back in his seat, sighing in contentment as he took his first drag.

Sam wiped his hands as best as he could on the mat, but left the cum on his chest – mostly because he wanted to avoid touching any more of the stuff, although as the liquid began to congeal, then dry, Sam regretted his decision to leave it.

Fussing so much about the cum meant he didn't realise someone else had joined him on the mat. It was the balaclava man; and Sam swallowed, nervous. Stoic and silent, something about him put the porter on edge – and the worry began to grow when the MULE rolled up his mask, revealing just his wolfish smile and bottom of his nose.

Flashing him a toothy, predatory grin, the Wolf brought his hand to his mouth and tugged off his gloves with his teeth, throwing them to the side.

Oh no. Being touched through fabric was bad enough – but bare skin against his own, with hands intent on hurting him, humiliating him, had Sam's heart racing at the thought. He didn't want to feel someone else's warmth on him, the touch of someone _alive_ on his flesh – and he almost lashed out when the barest trace of fingertips ghosted against his shin intimately.

But the other man persisted, moving upwards, skirting past Sam's knees until he was stroking the inside of his thighs. Tensing, Sam kicked out instinctively when the covered MULEs thumbs edged dangerously close to his flaccid cock, the barest graze of his thumbnail swiping against his sac.

"Knock it off," Sam grunted gruffly. This was too...strange, the touches almost affectionate in a way – and he detested that, for a very fleeting moment, he felt a tiny bit soothed by them, having only known violence and pain for so many years and shunning any other sort of physical contact.

"Naw, keeping doing it," interjected Hawk, "he hates it."

Wolf nodded, and lowered a thumb so it was brushing against the crease of the courier's taint, every so often dipping the tip into Sam's stretched, wet, and still slightly sore hole.

Violently shuddering, Sam squeezed his legs together, only to be tutted at; the first noise the MULE had let out since their meeting. He pried apart the thighs clamped around his hands and continued to molest the uncooperative porter, massaging at a spot on his perineum and smirking when Sam let out a surprised whimper.

If Sam has to be truthful, he knew very little about pleasure, or what he even 'liked' when it came to sex. He hadn't cared much to explore his own body – only masturbating out of necessity rather than desire – and in the one relationship he had _had_ , he had been awkward, full of hesitance, his aim during sex to please his partner instead of himself.

So, when the man dipped his head and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the scar on Sam's stomach, stubble scratching against the skin, the porter couldn't stop his breath from hitching. Air caught in his lungs and toes curled into the mat, Sam tried to push away the sickening anticipation that built up inside of him when the lips roamed lower and lower still.

The first kiss to his soft dick had him exhaling shakily and his stomach muscles quivering, and willing himself not to get hard, Sam stared as Wolf peppered tender pecks all over his shaft, even on his balls – as if sensing he was being watched, the man locked eyes with him, stormy greys boring into dulled blues. The MULE kept up the eye-contact as he nuzzled his nose against Sam's cock, his thumbs resuming its slow massage on the taint. He could hear the man sniff deeply, his breath moist and warm on his groin as he exhaled, seemingly in some sort of weird, perverted euphoria from Sam's scent.

Disturbed, Sam tore away his gaze, finding that the whole situation was getting too intense – only to moan aloud when something wet and hot swiped across his dick, from base to tip in one motion. Embarrassed by the noise, the porter slapped his hands over his mouth, panting into his palms as the MULE's tongue slathered itself all over, taking great care of the head and delicate glands.

It felt wrong. Not right – too personal, too intimate. But his touch-starved body betrayed him, physical need overtaking his psychological hang-ups, and the attention paid to his cock eventually took its toll, blood pooling to his crotch and causing him to harden.

Humiliating. The other MULEs were cheering at the sight, making obscene comments that made Sam's ears and cheeks burn from mortification.

"Stop covering your mouth," commanded Hawk, watching with such a rapt interest that he had leaned forward in his chair, the cigarette in his mouth burning away, unsmoked, for quite some time, "I want to hear those sweet little moans, Sammy...or else."

The threat didn't go unnoticed, so Sam dropped his hands and took to digging them into the mat – then choked out loud on a cry as he felt the head of his penis entering the masked MULEs mouth, the tip rubbing against the roof of his mouth.

Jesus fucking Christ. Sam had to compose himself, or else he was going to disgrace himself more by coming far too quickly. It was a battle, however, when the man's talented tongue lathered a generous amount of attention all over, the tip of his tongue prodding at the frenulum and dipping into the urethra. Sam caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled on it, stuck between the desire to yank the man off of him, but also to force him down and swallow him whole and come deep down his throat.

Thankfully, he didn't have to make the decision, because, moments later, Wolf was inching himself further and further down the shaft until his lips were snug around the base.

"Fuck!" Sam rasped, hips jerking up into the silky heat enveloping his cock. He couldn't contain his lewd noises as the man bobbed his head, slurping up the pre-cum that the porter knew for sure he was leaking copious amounts of. Damn – the man was fucking _good_ – and Sam felt the pleasure begin to build, a tingling sensation starting from his dick and spreading out to his entire pelvis.

He wasn't going last. He was going to come with a group of strangers watching him – and the shame was crippling to the point where he had to squeeze his eyes shut and tune out the rest of the fucked-up world.

By doing so, however, his senses became hyperaware, and with the loss of sight, the treatment of his cock became even more intense, all of his focus honing in on that one, sensitive area; Sam's guilt grew by each passing minute every time he heard his own unabashed cries of ecstasy, drowning in the delirium that the MULE was oh so generously bestowing upon him.

The knots in the lower half of his body tightened as his orgasm neared, sweat dripping off of every curve of his body and his face reddening at what was to come. The other man continued to suckle, and lick, his tongue moving in ways that Sam didn't even know were possible, alternating between the coarse, bumpy side and the slippery-smooth side of the probing muscle.

Sam didn't think it could feel any better, but he was soon proven wrong when two fingers were jammed into his hole, crooking at an angle that made the courier see stars, even with his eyes shut. Wolf fingered him relentlessly, wrist moving at such a speed that Sam was surprised he wasn't getting cramp.

The pleasure continued to spike, higher and higher, scrambling his brains and making him mindlessly seek out a release that he so desperately craved, bucking his hips up into the mouth that continued to torment him.

A noisy, hard suck had all the knots in the porter's body unfurling all at once, legs spreading wide and back arching off the ground as he came in long spurts, grunts and gasps tumbling from his lips as he rode out his orgasm. The MULE nursed him through the moment, mouth stilling and fingers idly scissoring inside of his ass, _just_ prodding against the spot that drove Sam to madness.

Once he had finished coming, the guilt, shame, disgust, came crashing down on him immediately. He hardly felt the fingers slipping out of him, or his softening cock hitting the cold air as the man in the mask removed it from his mouth.

He had felt good. He had came in the orifice of another man – a man who had kicked him, shocked him, slapped him, and who was now inches away from his face, Sam was surprised to realise when he opened his eyes, jumping a little from shock. Grinning, Wolf stuck out his tongue, showing Sam the seed that he collected on its surface rather than swallow.

Sam turned his head in disgust, shivering when the tongue touched his jaw and licked a sticky, wide stripe up to his temple, smearing his own cum onto his face. The smell of alcohol – sweeter, potentially more acidic than beer – permeated Sam's nose as the MULE grabbed his chin and pulled him into a kiss, tasting his own release as the man delved his tongue in. The action was so unexpected that Sam lay stunned, his slack mouth allowing Wolf to explore inside the orifice.

Despite the porter not responding back, the other man didn't seem to care; instead one of his hands roamed to Sam's chest, flicking at one of the nipples, while his other reached out for the tube that had been carelessly thrown to one side. The sound of the cream slicking against skin had Sam almost sighing in relief – the assault on his body was easier to cope with...not whatever _this_ MULE was doing, treating him a strange sort of kindness that the situation allowed.

Breaking the kiss, the man wiped his hands on his overalls and grabbed the courier's legs, wrapping them loosely around his middle. Sam could feel surprisingly strong abs hidden beneath the clothes, but didn't have time to dwell on his physique as a cock started to poke at his entrance.

Preparing for the pain, Sam took a deep breath just as Wolf surged forward, smashing against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had the porter expelling all the air he had sucked in, his overstimulated body spasming uncontrollably. His spent length twitched on his stomach, a weak stream of cum oozing out as Sam realised he had climaxed _again_ with an incredible degree of dismay, his pride diminishing by the second.

Even the MULE seemed surprised, and Hawk, who had been watching in silence, let out a hoot of crude laughter, "turns out the great deliver is nothing more than a whore, after all...you acted like a fucking virgin, but I bet you've fucked a few of the porters out in the field, haven't you? Maybe snuck into a few of the preppers shelters for a little 'overtime', too...?" Sam shook his head, the idea that he would willingly touch another human being for the sake of sexual gratification absolutely absurd and insulting, "ah, no? Maybe the guys at Bridges' treat you good enough then...I'm sure that Die-Hardman has fucked you once or twic—"

"—Shut up," Sam cut in, putting an abrupt stop to the man's sick fantasies, "just shut it—"

Wolf didn't appear to like being interrupted, or having Sam distracted by someone else, so he reached out for Sam's nipple and twisted it, not enough for it to be painful, but bordering on it. Silenced, the courier's attentions focused back on the man, the sound of the leader snorting at either him, or his subordinate's apparent annoyance.

Seemingly satisfied, Wolf's hands circled his waist and pulled Sam flush to his pelvis, his toned ass smacking against skin. The porter made a noise in the back of his throat, heightened senses making him more aware of things that he didn't think he'd notice otherwise; like how the other man's pubic hair tickled against his flesh, or the sweat rolling off of the MULEs collarbones and dripped down his toned chest.

Deep, and slow, was how he was taken – Sam wished that it was faster, harder, only because it meant it was less dragged out. This way felt too personal, like how regular sex was supposed to be, aiming for all the good spots inside of him that Sam didn't even realise existed before now. The languid grinding motions against his oversensitive prostate was having a strange sort of affect on him – and he couldn't pinpoint, exactly, what the feeling was, until the MULE picked up his pace a little, aiming away from the spot that he had been hitting so often moments ago.

Sam then knew what he wanted.

He wanted _more_.

His body was betraying him. Two orgasms hadn't made up for several years of abstinence – and now he was making up for it, his legs locking tighter around the MULE as he wordlessly encouraged him on, too ashamed to voice what he wanted – no – _needed_.

Bucking his hips, Sam fucked himself on the cock that drove into him, subtly trying to find the same spot that had him flying. It took a few attempts, but when he did, any lingering reservations he had were thrown out of the metaphorical window as he let out a long, low moan.

Ankles locked together around the MULEs hips, Sam distantly heard the others mocking him about his rapidly growing erection – they could see everything, hear everything, and thinking fast, the porter did the only thing he could come up with. Fisting his hands in the lapels of the other man's overalls, Sam tugged at them, forcing the MULE to crash down and crush him – then he wrapped his arms around the man's back, nails digging into the fabric covering his shoulder blades.

The position meant that the wolfish man was mere inches away from his face, his entire heavy, warm weight pressed against his body, but Sam kept him held in place, deciding that if he _was_ going to act like some sort of shameless slut, then having only one MULE privy to his reactions was better than the other six staring with their prying, dirty eyes.

If he had been surprised by the porter's actions, the other man didn't show it – he just shifted his weight instead, putting his forearms either side of Sam's head and continuing the steady motion of his hips.

The smell, feel, weight, _sound_ of the MULE was overwhelming, and being in such close proximity of him amplified Sam's already agitated senses, until all he could focus on was the other man's harsh panting against his ear and the slide of their sweat-soaked chests every time they moved. Sam couldn't contain the sounds that escaped him, the vigorous rutting drawing out noises that he didn't think was possible for _him_ , a gruff, masculine man to make – yet cried out he did, breathy moans filling the entire shelter.

It shouldn't have felt like... _this_. Pure pain was what he expected, not the confusing pleasure he was experiencing, his now-hard cock leaking pre-cum against his abs and pooling into the dips and curves of the muscles. Stomach tightening, Sam anticipated the orgasm that he knew was approaching rapidly. He didn't seem to be the only one reaching his peak; the rapid slap of Wolf's balls against his ass, and the uneven, intense thrusts signified that he too was near. The vulgar squelch of the creamy lubrication rang out, again and again, louder and louder, the harder the MULE fucked into him, frenzied movements making Sam have to tighten his grip around the man in order to stay in place.

However, the man shook off his arms, then grabbed his hands – interlocking their fingers together and squeezing.

Hands. Touching _his_.

It was utterly terrifying.

But it also made his orgasm come crashing unexpectedly, his entire body seizing up and sparks shooting from deep inside, every nerve on fire, tingling, as he shot thick ropes of cum over himself, even managing to hit his chest. On top of him, the man grunted, then stopped his movements, tiny tremors wracking his frame as Sam felt something gush into him and spill out, droplets dripping from his hole and dribbling along his crack.

So intense was his orgasm that Sam continued to weakly shoot semen even when the man pulled out, turning slack and boneless as he rode out his climax while the cum inside him trickled out, staining the mat underneath.

Then a hand was on his cock, and Sam damn near screamed at the contact, too sensitive to be handled. Yet the MULE didn't appear to care at his distress, a palm rubbing and twisting fast and insistently on the head of his penis, stimulating the glans and smearing the porter's own release all over the tip.

"S-Stop—" Sam wheezed, unable to catch his breath, "it hu—rts—ah – no, ow, fuck, fuck, f-fuc—"

He felt the urge to pee, but not – the sensation was strange, and a sharp, sudden surge of pleasure ripped through Sam, a large stream of clear, watery liquid shooting from his cock.

Thrashing wildly, Sam howled as the man continued to torture him through the odd, unknown experience, only stopping when the courier found the strength to push at him, nearly sobbing from agony. As if reluctantly, the MULE pulled away and wiped his sweaty brow, sparing one last look at the used, spent porter before getting up, tucking himself away and standing up.

Sam felt like a wreck. No – he _was_ a wreck. He had moaned and silently begged for more, as if the entire thing was a casual hook-up and not the rape it actually was. He shuddered fiercely, nauseous as he covered his eyes with his hands, too ashamed to bear looking at anyone. The cuffs on his wrist clinked, and even more remorse surged through him, knowing full well that everything had been recorded. He could almost picture Die-Hardman listening to every bit of his nightmare, or every other Bridges member who had access to the recordings.

Misery swamped every single fibre of Sam's being, a thousand different feelings flip-flopping back and forth. Shame. Anger. Sadness. Denial. And, eventually – acceptance.

He couldn't change anything. It had happened, and there was nothing to be done.

It had happened, and was going to continue to, it appeared, when he could sense that he was being moved. The older MULE had slid next to him, flat on his back, and was manhandling the porter so he was sat on his lap, facing away from him, the man's erection rubbing against his ass.

"My turn," said Bear, "better move those hips, slut, or I'll put out another cig on ya'."

Nodding numbly, Sam clumsily reached behind him, lining up the MULE's cock to his stretched, abused hole, wincing as it entered him. _This_ one hadn't bothered to use lube at all – and sickeningly, Sam was somewhat grateful that the man before him had come inside.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sam lowered himself onto the man's erection, his weak, numbed hips slipping and causing him to slam down in one go, the cock entering him too deeply—

" _Shit_!" yelped Sam, thighs shaking – fuck, the man felt too far in, almost like he was in his guts, even if it was impossible due to the size. Still, it _hurt_ , and Sam's eyes watered.

"Your back is fuckin' sexy," the sleaze purred, his finger tracing the curve of Sam's spine, tugging at the leash that he had forgotten he had been wearing, "nice ass, too..."

The dirty compliments had nausea churning in his stomach, his gut doing flips as another MULE stood in front of him. It was the owly boy, his dick hovering over Sam's face.

"Open up," Owl commanded, slapping his cock against the porter's face. Reluctantly, Sam opened his mouth in response, grimacing at the unfortunate taste and texture of another man's penis making its way down his throat and moving past the overused muscles. Another presence made itself known – it was Ox, his shadow blanketing him.

"Suck mine too," he demanded, rudely, his cock rubbing against the porter's already cum-stained cheek.

"Hey, _I_ was first," Owl sounded pissed, "wait your fucking turn, prick."

"What the _fuck_ did you just call me? You want a beating, or something—?"

"—Jumping straight to fighting again, can you do _anything_ that _doesn't_ involve your fists—?"

"—I am _this_ close to ramming my cock down _your_ throat instead if you keep this up, dude—"

"—Ha, like your tiny little dick would even reach that far—"

Awkwardly Sam sat there, listening to the men argue while the cocks of the MULEs in his ass and mouth led forgotten.

"Oi, oi," Bear spoke up, "shut the fuck up, both of ya', I'm going soft 'ere. Just be good little boys...and take it in turns or something. Also, _you_ —" a sharp smack hit against Sam's backside, "—you can move your goddamn ass too, you lazy cunt."

Sam huffed through his nose, irritation coursing through him at the notion of being called _lazy_. Like hell he was, all he'd done for years and years was walk hundreds upon hundreds – if not thousands, maybe even tens of thousands – of miles in his lifetime, carrying ton after ton of life-saving cargo.

And _this_ was the result of it all. Being treated like trash, beaten and played with by a bunch of men that were no better than petty thieves.

Another swat against his rear had Sam almost biting off the dick in his mouth, mostly out of pure spite than surprise, his heckles rising. They wanted so much from him – yet he had very little left to give with his tired, worn-out body.

Begrudgingly, the porter rolled his hips, his actions unskilled and sloppy. How was he supposed to ride someone _and_ suck a dick at the same time?

Luckily – or perhaps unluckily – he didn't have to focus too much on working his mouth, as Owl was apparently content enough to pound into the face of the befuddled courier, a certain amount of enthusiasm in his thrusts that had Sam gagging at such rough treatment. Drool soaked the corners of his mouth, and he protested grumpily (albeit muffled) at the constant banging of the other man's balls against his chin – his plight, as usual, went ignored.

Sam attempted to get his hips to work, despite how the entire half of his lower body felt as wobbly as jelly, boneless and useless – his second try had the older MULE's cock slipping out him, and he let loose a noise of frustration at how difficult it was.

"Fuckin' hell, it's not hard," the man grumbled, "just move up and down, dumbass."

Attempt number three – Sam backed down onto Bear's girth, the second re-entry going a lot smoother. The sensation of being filled, and stretched wide, was, unfortunately, becoming something he was well acquainted with, and he barely let out a peep once his ass smacked against the other man's pelvis.

Adjusting his position by leaning forward and putting his weight on his hands, Sam found it more comfortable and easier to move, back curving, rear pushed out, with his mouth continued to be used by the nerdy MULE.

"Yeah, that's it," the elder man rasped, "shake those hips – aw, shit – like that—that's it, you're learnin'—"

Just as he was getting into a rhythm, the geek fucking his mouth pulled out suddenly, gasping, "oh—damn, I'm gonna shoot—"

Sam didn't even time to close his mouth as ropey strings of cum splattered all across his face, only managing to shut his eyes in time as he felt some hit his forehead, nose, and splash against his tongue, the unpleasant substance hitting the back of his throat.

The Ox, who had been waiting patiently, let out a roar of laughter, "that was way too fast, man...kinda pathetic, honestly, ha."

"Shut it," Owl snapped, sounding embarrassed as he composed himself, "at least you can have your turn now."

"Fucking finally, I hate going last."

Sam still had his eyes shut when Ox shoved the other man out of the way, stepping in front of him, "you asleep? Get to it."

He opened his eyes, another ugly, erect cock looming over him, foreskin still covering the head. Surprisingly, the man was the most well-groomed by far, pubes trimmed and balls hairless. Observations aside, Sam leaned forward to dutifully do what he had been ordered to do, the tip of his tongue barely touching the head before he was pulled back.

"No, not there," the MULE said, pushing Sam's head down, "suck on _these_."

The wrinkled, cooler skin of his balls touched the porter's lips, who jerked away on reflex, repulsed by the idea of having to lick at another man's testicles, no matter how neat they were.

But...he knew he had very little choice. The fate of the kid depended on him. He'd been given so many chances already.

So, with his mouth agape, he gave a little testing lick against the creases of the man's sac, trying to tune out the throaty groan the motion released from him.

"Ooooh, pretty good with your tongue, ain'tcha? Fuck – maybe I should get you to eat my ass out—"

Thankfully for Sam, Bear interjected, "ugh, fuck no, I don't wanna see that in my lifetime, ever."

With a disappointed huff, the MULE nodded forlornly, fingers slipping into Sam's hair as he brought him closer. Taking the hint, the courier continued to slather his tongue against the sac, privately thankful now that it was testicles he was licking, rather than another man's asshole. Although, it was a tragedy that he had to choose between those two options to begin with.

An impatient tap on his ass told him that he had stopped moving, too preoccupied with Ox to concentrate on riding Bear – somewhat clumsily, Sam lifted his hips until the cock inside of him nearly slid out again, then he crashed down, his ass slapping against the old man's pelvis.

It didn't feel good. It didn't feel like anything much – the man in the balaclava had done a number on his lower half, his senses dulled and brain in a stupor, his resistance at an all-time low. He just had to get through this – let them have their way with him, and then it would be over; he could go back to doing what he was actually good at – delivering cargo. Easy.

The thought of freedom and returning to his normalcy urged him on, barely even registering the fact that the muscle head was telling him to suck, and he slipped one of the balls into his mouth like a well-practiced whore and not the introverted lone wolf he actually was. The taste wasn't much different than a dick – perhaps a little saltier from sweat, but whatever. Sam was running out of fucks to give, really, finding his abuse prolonged and tiresome. From what the porter knew from his limited experience of sex and exploring himself, he had to be gentle. Softly he suckled the sac, tongue probing against the scrotum.

Fuck – trying to concentrate on two different movements at once was confusing. The rhythm he once had was gone, having to alternate between sucking and riding – and a hard, deep thrust had his teeth skidding dangerously close to the delicate skin, the MULE yelping and yanking Sam off.

"You little fucker—!" he shouted, and his fist moved so fast that Sam couldn't prepare for it, the blow hitting across his nose, blood spurting out and dripping down his face, "—you did that on purpose, didn't you?!"

Sam shook his head, "no—"

"LIAR!" another punch landed, this time catching his lip, the taste of metal filling the courier's mouth again as it split. The second punch had been expected, however, and Sam clenched in anticipation moments before it had hit.

" _Fuck_! Punch him again – he got so fuckin' tight!" barked Bear, actually starting to do some of the work and driving up into Sam, his hands on the porter's waist pushing down so every inch of his cock was sheathed inside.

The next force landed near his eye, and Sam knew from the impact that he'd have one hell of a shiner in a few days – on the fourth hit, on his cheek, the elder MULE's calloused fingers lifted off of his hips and pulled at the leash, forcing Sam to lean backwards and put his hands out behind him for balance.

With one hand twisted tightly around the cord, the man's other hand snaked around the front, twisting Sam's nipple harshly before slipping down, stroking the inside of his sweaty thigh before pushing his legs wide, his flaccid cock and stuffed hole on full view to the others.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, Q-pid jingling and lips pursed as he bore the brunt of the Bear's sudden, intense, thrusts, his mouth allowed a break as he was too far from the meathead to continue sucking. The handmade collar around his throat grew sore as it rubbed, the tightening fist on the leash making it press against his windpipe.

It wasn't too long before the MULE was letting out a long stream of curses, frenzied jabs becoming irregular as white-hot fluid flooded his rectum, the area around his anus feeling even more sticky and wet from another load of semen being dumped into him. As soon as the man finished, he was nudging Sam off of him and lighting a cigarette, leaving the courier to curl up on the floor, limp and exhausted with a mixture of cum, lube and blood trickling down his thighs.

He could have slept for an eternity – but Sam wasn't that lucky. Ox was pulling at him, hoisting him up off the floor and wrapping his legs around his waist. Sam knew he wasn't a light man – years of carrying cargo had made him well-built and strong – but the MULE lifted him up like he weighed nothing, slinging Sam's arms around his neck and anchoring him there.

The other man was too close, his presence invading Sam's personal space. Chapped lips touched the base of his neck, nibbling at the delicate conjunction as wide, firm hands groped his rear, guiding him to sink down on the man's cock, the slide easy and slick. He must have lubed himself up while Sam was dealing with...other matters – but it was hardly useful, regardless, all the semen in his ass providing more than enough lubrication.

Sam slumped, aching and tired, butt snugly situated on Bear's cock. It apparently didn't seem like the MULE needed, nor wanted, his help, satisfied to bounce Sam on his crotch, his hand groping and squeezing at the porter's ass as he lifted him, then dropped him back down, his grunts echoing in Sam's ears as he voiced his pleasure.

"God—it feels like my dick is melting—" the MULE growled, "wish you were tighter, though – fuck – the other guys broke you in too much..."

"I know what we can do to fix that," came a deep voice from behind Sam, Tiger making a reappearance. Wet fingers brushed against his spine, before slipping down, teasing the edges of sphincter—

—Then one slid inside of him alongside the other man's cock, and Sam let out a low whine, feeling the stretch as he took the probing digit up to the knuckle.

But it didn't stop at one finger. Another one soon joined, scissoring inside of him, and Sam nearly howled. Even he had his limits; limits that he was hurtling towards, then veered over when the appendages left him and was replaced with something harder, hotter, and bigger pressing against his asshole.

Oh, _God_. The MULE was trying to put his cock in him, too, at the same time.

"No, n-no—" bleated Sam weakly, tensing, "—it won't fit, I'll b-break—"

A hand struck him on the back of his head, and Sam quieted sharpish, "shut up, man, you bitch more than my ex..." said Tiger, continuing to push and prod at his entrance.

It wasn't going to happen. Sam had tightened up, body shaking in pain whenever the tip managed to breach into him.

"Misbehaving again, Mr. Legend...?" Hawk asked. He had something in his hand, and it took Sam several seconds to recognise what it was, dread chewing away at him when he did; a syringe full of a strong narcotic meant for severe pain that had been meant for delivery to the Elder prepper – yet now, it appeared to be on route for Sam instead as the leader came closer, the tip of the needle pricking his arm, "this should relax you, yes...? You should thank me...these sadistic sons of bitches wouldn't think twice about splitting you in two, leaving you to scream, and scream, and scream in agony..."

The sting of the needle became stronger the deeper it entered, and Sam gritted his teeth, "t-thank you," he muttered, fingers curling into the tall MULE's jumpsuit as the liquid in the syringe flooded into his system.

Nothing happened for a few minutes – Hawk had backed off and taken the empty needle with him, and Tiger continued to play with his ass while the other MULE lazily fucked into him, slow and casual like he had all the time in the world.

Then Sam felt it – the tension in his muscles began to unwind, all the knots in his body unfurling as a pleasant calmness overtook his senses. His brain, once loud with thoughts of fear, anger, anxiety, turned sluggish, a heaviness seeping into his skull and rendering him dazed. He had been in pain – but it felt so long ago, the world around him slowing down as he relaxed in the grip of another man.

"Think it's working...his eyes have gone funny," the man holding him said, and Sam nodded dumbly, all of his cares thrown to the wind as he went lax, floating on cloud nine. Holy shit. He felt fantastic. Sure, he could still feel the pressure of a dick in him, though it was one of the few things he _could_ feel, a foggy bliss clouding his perception of...everything, really.

He didn't even put up a fight when the scarred MULE's cock butted against his entrance, not even wincing when the head popped in, a stretch that would have once been painful, barely even noticeable.

With another shaft in him, his insides felt so _full_. Sandwiched between two taller, burlier men, with his flaccid length rubbing against one of the MULE's abs – there was very little Sam could do but cling to them and take their cocks, inhibitions peeled away layer by layer the more the drugs muddled his mind.

They attacked his hole, again and again, pulverising and rubbing against every inch of his ass, the double onslaught leaving Sam no time at all to take a breather. Together the MULEs violated him, focusing on their own pleasure than Sam's comfort as they rammed into him, their sweaty, muscled bodies effortlessly holding him up as they attacked the deepest parts of him.

Sam wanted to stop feeling, to turn into a lifeless puppet and not have to bear what was happening to him anymore. The narcotics had given him a taste of a different type of nothingness that he was used to – one that wasn't so lonely, so painful – one that radiated warmth and comfort, like a hug that he had rarely ever been given or experienced.

So close to tangible oblivion, yet sadly, not quite. Tiger anchored his hands under Sam's knees, pulling them back so _he_ was the one carrying the porter, the angle allowing both men to pound at him harder, deeper – and, inevitably, hit the spot that Sam detested even existed.

"Uhn..." Sam moaned, louder than he expected, flinging his head back onto the MULE's shoulder, "n-not there..."

"Huh?" Ox looked down, and Sam squirmed under his gaze, his cheeks growing red, the flush travelling down his neck to his chest, "woah, boys – look – this slut is _hard_! Again! What the fuck, man? Are you into this sort of shit?!"

He couldn't deny he wasn't hard – he _was_ , his growing erection bobbing in time with the thrusts, slapping against his stomach noisily. Sam really, truly wished that someone would kill him on the spot, and then do it over and over again every time he came back to life to put him out of such a humiliating situation.

"Fuckin' whore!"

"Do him harder! Faster!"

"Ha...look at his little cock bouncing away, it's kinda cute."

"You gonna come, Sam? Gonna shoot while getting raped, you sick freak?"

"Anyone got a camera? We should send Bridges' some photos of their 'Legend'..."

"Don't those cuffs record everything? I bet those fuckers are listening right now...and not doing a damn thing to help, haha. They couldn't give a shit about you, could they? You're just their pawn..."

The insults kept coming, the various voices confusing the courier until they became an indistinguishable buzz. He stared at the ceiling, panting, moaning, whimpering at each and every hit on his prostate, his overcrowded ass so very sensitive. His whole groin area felt strange – was he reaching his peak again? It didn't feel like the past two climaxes he had had, though—

"You're not much to look at, but damn...you have a sexy voice for a guy..." Tiger breathed into his ear, breath hot and ticklish. Sam wasn't aware of how loud he was being until it was pointed out, and the sounds were so disgraceful that he felt a part of his male pride die.

That didn't mean that Sam stopped his whines – no, if anything, hearing himself just made them louder as he cried out in anguish, angry at himself and his traitorous body. A traitorous, rebellious body that teetered on the edge as the men pummelled into him, then veered off of it when the MULEs simultaneously hit his sweet spot.

Sam's eyes rolled back when he came, hips jerking as his orgasm took over any rational thought. The tingly, intense pleasure didn't stem from his balls and cock like it usually did, no, _this_ time it came from somewhere deeper, more spread-out like his entire being was one big erogenous zone.

Then he realised – he wasn't ejaculating. There was nothing coming out of him—

"He's coming like a _girl_! Fuck me – he's twitching like _crazy_ inside—"

"Ugh – shit – I can barely move—"

Clenching around the dicks inside of him, Sam's orgasm persisted for quite some time, much longer than he had ever experienced before. And the MULEs, hitting his prostate with each of their thrusts wasn't helping matters either, prolonging his high until Sam was sobbing, the intoxicating bliss turning into torture.

He felt so hot, so strung-out, that he couldn't stop begging for them to stop, "no more – please – I— _ah_ —no, no, no—stop—STOP!—"

Yet, they didn't. The bastards just _laughed_ at him, and, if possible, fucked him harder, deliberately aiming at his prostate repeatedly that had Sam screaming, his throat dry and hoarse from all the abuse it had taken.

Nowhere to run, no way to break free, Sam twisted and writhed in the men's grasp, his tormented body wracking with tremors as, shamefully, he grinded his dick against Ox's abs, wanting – _needing_ – to relieve the build-up he could feel. His aching, throbbing cock wept miserably, shamefully, on the man's stomach, his hands finding purchase on Tiger's wrists, fingers squeezing down.

Ox, noticing Sam rubbing off on him, smirked at him, reaching out to twist the porter's perky nipple painfully, "you're trying to come, _again_? Horny bastard," he moved faster, his jabs quick and sharp, a contrast to the other MULE's deeper, slower motions, "are you? Huh? Are you?"

" _Yes_ ," blurted Sam carelessly, his stupefied brain stripped of any rationality. He didn't care. Couldn't care.

As if pleased by his admission, the MULE pressed himself closer, almost certainly grinding himself against the courier's cock on purpose, the friction at its peak. Fuck, fuck, he was going to—

Simultaneously, the MULEs slammed into him, balls deep, flesh slapping against flesh, their groans and pants hot on his face as pleasure surged through his groin, all the heaviness in his cock shooting out at once between his and the other man's stomachs.

God, it felt – good. Better than good. Great – _amazing_ , even, although an overwhelming twinge of guilt tugged at his stomach and chest at the thought. People needed their stuff, they had thanked him, time and time again for his duty, and here he was, shooting his load while riding the dicks of his rapists.

Amidst his post-orgasm clarity, the grip on his body grew tighter, bruises surely guaranteed at the touch – the thrusting, once coordinated, was sloppy, clumsy, and soon the Ox paused, shoulders shaking and breath laboured. He stayed in that position for almost a minute – Sam counted the seconds – before slipping out, fresh semen pattering on the floor as he removed his cock.

With the MULE gone and not blocking the view anymore, the porter was truly on display to everyone, his soft penis and stretched hole indecently on show. Without Ox, it meant that the other MULE could piston himself in and out much more roughly, screwing the courier's messed-up ass like a frenzied beast, his teeth gnashing and grunts nothing more than snarls as he too began to come, liquid fire, almost like lava, filling Sam to the brim.

"Whew, you did good, man," Tiger puffed as he pulled out, carelessly dumping Sam onto the mat, who curled up, trembling, hiding his face in his hands as the events of what had happened dawned on him, the rub of his cuffs against his chaffed wrists a cruel reminder that his transgressions were probably already known by everyone at Bridges.

He just wanted to be left alone. No more. He couldn't.

Yet despairingly, someone kneeled next to him – Hawk, the leader, the king – and flipped him onto his back, staring straight into the sneering, sadistic face of the man who had orchestrated his entire defilement.

An immense amount of hatred shook Sam to his core, the emotion so extreme that he felt sick, every nerve in his body tingling as he repressed the urge to throttle the man with his bare hands. He'd made it his policy not to kill – but he was very close to breaking it, to come back when everything was over with some newly-crafted guns and slaughter every pig in the room. Fuck it, he wouldn't even give them the dignity of burning their bodies, either – just dump the fuckers in a tar lake and be done with it. They didn't deserve the respect.

The fantasy was so satisfying to lose himself in that he barely registered that Hawk had pushed three fingers inside of him without resistance, the rubber of his gloves squeaking as he toyed with the cum inside of the porter.

"Damn, you're loose..." the MULE teased his little finger around the rim, "I could probably fit my fist in here...should I give it a try?"

Sam shook his head weakly, catching the man's wrist in a loose hold. Enough was enough. They'd all had their turn. It should've been over.

"Hm...I thought we had finally broken you, Sam...but I still see it, that little... _glint_ of defiance in you..." the leader smiled at him, his eyes turning into crescent-shaped moons at how wide he beamed at him, menacingly, "guess we still have some... _work_...to do."

And with that, a yank on his leash had Sam hauled up from the floor, his legs almost collapsing from underneath him from his weak and sore hips. He was pushed, on his back, onto a square table, the world turning upside down as his head dangled over one side, his legs over the other.

"Hey! Fatso...get over here...you want a go?"

"Hell yeah," the piggy man replied, and Sam stared into the distance in disbelief as the MULE spread his legs wide, not even making a single sound as he was speared fully, in one go, on the man's fat, veiny girth, "ooooh, man, I've been waiting for _this_."

Pig started to hump away at him, his sniffling pants and snorts so vulgar, so disgusting that Sam shuddered just from the sound alone. Another MULE came into his field of view – the masked one, Wolf – and stood in front of the courier, the bulge in his overalls millimetres from his face. He pulled out his cock, and gave Sam's cheek a tiny tap, wordlessly telling him to open up.

Sam did so, obediently, breathing through his bloody nose as the length made its way down his throat, the muscles bulging. When the MULE got in as far as possible, he placed his bare hands on the porter's neck, thumbs pressed on the bump as he moved in and out, forcing himself past Sam's gag reflex.

He wanted to grip the table, the velocity of the men taking him making the legs creak and groan under his weight, but the Hawk had returned – that as Sam's guess, anyway – snatching his hand and guiding it to his erection, fucking into the courier's fist. Another person grabbed his other wrist, mimicking his leader as he manipulated Sam's hand to twist and guide along his shaft. Every hole stuffed, filled, and being used, Sam took it all. There wasn't anything he could really do – they were doing all the work, all he had to do was provide the warm body for the depraved men to have their way with.

His mind wandered. To his BB. He hoped she was okay – he wasn't sure how long they'd been apart for, but it felt like centuries. He really, really, just wanted to hold the pod in his arms again, to relax in a room and pull faces at Lou to make her laugh, while tunes blasted out from his terminal—

Lou. Shit. What a sappy, sentimental fool he was, yearning for something that he knew he didn't deserve and would never get back. But the name – it suited her. Louise. His second chance.

Zoned out, the fat MULE had come inside him at some point, and the leader on his hand. He only came back to reality when Wolf pulled at his neck, cramming as much of his cock down the porter's throat as he could while he came, thick semen coating Sam's tongue and the roof of his mouth.

That only left the other MULE to come, who turned out to be Owl-boy, jumping on Sam as soon as the other lot backed off, flipping him around and sunk his thinner, smaller dick into him, his more modest size compared to the other men meaning he couldn't really feel him at all. What he lacked in size, he made up in enthusiasm – although that worked to his disadvantage, when his crazy, erratic actions stopped dead after what only seemed like two minutes, his whiny groans indicating to Sam that he must've come, too.

Semen dripped down his quivering thighs as the man pulled out, his body slouched over the surface of the table.

Finished. Over. Everyone was satisfied, right?

Reality wasn't that kind.

The men drank, and drank, one can after the other, a haze of smoke filling the shelter as they puffed away on cigarettes. Rambunctiously the group laughed, joked, discussed their patrol routes, all while passing Sam around like some sort of ragdoll, either being raped, anally or orally, before being shoved into the lap on the next MULE. They went through his stolen cargo some more, too, ripping open the container that held precious sperm and eggs meant for the next city, dumping the vials of semen onto his body, hair, even his mouth, before penetrating his asshole with the empty tubes – and when that didn't get a reaction out of the courier, they took to shoving one of their unlit pole weapons inside of him, the cold, unyielding material uncomfortable as they violated him with the inanimate object.

"Want me to turn it on, Sam...? I bet it would hurt...oh, my finger could just slip at _any_ moment now..."

Sam shook, not only just his head, but all over – the drugs had left his system a long time ago, and the pain he experienced was horrendous, every bone, muscle and joint aching from overuse.

But the abuse continued. Catching their second, or maybe it was their third, fourth, fifth wind – the MULEs got back on him, attacking him, touching him, mentally unable to care about his aphenphosmphobia, but physically, his skin broke out in rashes, red handprints joining the black-rimmed ones.

Was it going to continue on forever? Their libidos seemed endless, their energy boundless – Sam himself was utterly, truly, spent, so exhausted he was pretty sure he slipped in and out of consciousness at times, not even sure when he had ended up riding Hawk, with the balaclava man also inside of him, while Bear fucked his face silly, his nicotine-stained nails digging into his scalp.

Not even knowing if hours or days had passed, everything, _eventually_ , slowed. Most of the group had given up or gotten bored, some dozing, a few others sat around the same table they had raped Sam on, playing a round of cards.

Really, the only two that seemed like they were up for more was the leader and Wolf, one cruel, the other oddly affectionate in a way, the mismatch of their behaviours making each round more different than the last. Hawk favoured leaving marks, ejaculating on his body, or scratching welts into his skin, while the Wolf liked to drag things out, fondling and touching the porter in places that had him sighing out, limp dick forlornly stirring back into action as the man took him slowly, the undeserving kindness more torturous than the cruelty.

Even they had limits, however. After one, final round, they pulled away, both of them putting themselves decent as Sam silently watched, not daring to get hopeful.

"Ah...I think we've had our fill..." Hawk remarked, looking around the room to see all the other men no longer interested, "you did great, Sam..." the leader gave him a thumbs-up, and his cuffs pinged – a single, paltry like gifted to him, "...but, I think it's time for us to part ways, regrettably...anyone up for doing the honours – oh, you'll do it...?"

Sam's heart raced as the man in the mask stepped forward, picking up one of the poles. The ringleader hauled him to his knees, and he sat there, waiting for the familiar sting of electricity to shoot through him.

Only for it to never come – instead, as his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, he looked up to the masked man's face – just as he struck him devastatingly on his head with the pole, darkness consuming him as the laughter of his attackers faded into nothing.

**°•°•°•°**

Pain.

That was what Sam awoke to, when he finally regained consciousness, his back pressed against the trunk of a timefall shelter. Back in the Chiral network then, he thought, head throbbing.

Next came the cold, his naked body bare to the world, the biting chill causing his hair to stand on edge. Shivering, and shaking away the dregs of the fog that clouded his mind, Sam glanced around, spotting his clothes, boots, backpack – the only thing missing was the cargo.

And Lou? Where was she?

He soon got his answer, a cry coming out from behind a nearby rock, and he scrambled his way to her, falling over when he attempted to stand up. Fuck it – he had no strength left, but he wasn't going to leave her alone. Not any longer. He dragged his aching, bruised body along the ground, peeking over the rock when he got to it – relief flooding through him when he saw the BB pod and the girl inside, safe and unharmed.

When she saw him, she stopped crying, a heart-shaped bubble blowing from her lips.

Sam snatched up the pod and hugged it to his chest, rocking it back and forth. Tears splashed against the glass, more out of elation, rather than hurt.

He might have been in pain, traumatised, dirty – but he didn't care. He would have gone through it a hundred times more if he had to, just to keep Lou out of harm's way.

Crawling back to his clothes, Sam got dressed, and ignored all the calls that were being made to his cuffs. He couldn't talk. Not now. Even dressing was an arduous task, but he managed it, the clothes feeling like a luxury after spending so much time exposed.

Lou's eyes were inquisitive, almost concerned as she watched him discreetly dress, knowing that she couldn't have known what had happened to him, but feeling shy all the same, wanting to spare her from the harsh reality of the world. She didn't need to grow up like he had, disturbed, alone and afraid – she deserved only the best.

Once he was done, he picked her back up, her giggles forcing a smile out of him as he turned his back to the rest of the world, curling on his side.

He was so tired.

So he shut his eyes, and drifted off to sleep – but he didn't dream of the horrors of the day, no, nor did he have nightmares about an apocalyptic future. He dreamt of Lou, no longer in her pod, and he played with her under the sun of a new day.

Safe. Happy. Alive.

And that's exactly how she was going to stay. He was going to make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making this far! 💕  
> Much thanks go to my friends too for proofreading! 💜💙
> 
> Also probably going to write a Higgs/Sam soon because I love that crazy fucker, so look forward to it I suppose. 
> 
> Thank you all again!


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